


The Holes We Dig

by Fingerguns



Category: Holes - Louis Sachar, Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Cowboys & Cowgirls, F/F, Holes au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 00:11:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12243312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fingerguns/pseuds/Fingerguns
Summary: An AU loosely based off the Holes story of Sam and Kissin' Kate Barlow. Or where Root’s a cowgirl trying to take down the corrupt with the help of John and Harold. Shaw gets caught in the crosshairs.





	The Holes We Dig

The uneven road makes it impossible to sleep. Shaw just wants to lay against the carriage door, but every rock sends her head bumping against the side. She’s starting to feel a bruise form. Plus the annoying drone of Margaret, or as Shaw likes to think Marget-the-hell-out-of-my-life, keeps her up. Shaw huffs for the millionth time today, and Margaret goes on, not even sparing a glance. Her words are directed at Shaw, but they are mostly reassurances for herself. 

“Yes Sameen, you will love it in Houston I hear it's beautiful this time of year.” Margaret remarks. 

“Yes, I especially love the orange and brown dirt.” Shaw deadpans not bothering to take her face off the window so her words come out muffled. She ignores the slowly growing buildings in the distance.

“Oh don't be like that, it's not attractive.” Margaret emphasizes.

Shaw just huffs, and begins pulling off her white, silky gloves. 

Margaret opens her mouth to protest “Sameen--”

“I’ll put them back on when we get there.” Shaw responds not taking her face off the window; she has no intention of putting them back on. It’s too hot for gloves, too hot to be riding a carriage, and especially too hot to argue.

Margaret doesn’t feel the same, she purses her lips for half a second, “You better; the Edwards are expecting you to have some level of decency. They’re kind enough to take you in and school you on proper manners, but they don’t want to start with a hooligan.”

Oh yes the Edwards, Shaw’s cousins. Margaret had talked non stop about them ever since she sent a letter practically begging them to take Shaw off her hands. Of course, she used a very eloquent wording, underlining how important it was that Shaw go to the city to learn how to be a lady, that she would never find a husband in the country, and Margaret didn’t have the right resources like the Edwards did; she probably even threw in the fact that Shaw would be hopeless without a father figure. Margaret was partly right, she didn’t have the “resources” she wanted, Shaw’s money, she wouldn’t find a husband, and the only man around was Margaret’s brother. Shaw thought he was a slimy man, lower than the scum of the earth; she had suspicions that he was responsible for the freak oil rig “accident” that killed her father and left her with her step-mom. Margaret’s brother, Tom, was all too conveniently on the sidelines ready to take over her father’s oil business.

Not that Shaw could have done anything to stop him, well short of murder; she was a woman and Texas law wouldn’t allow her to take over the oil business. Shaw was smart enough to not go around accusing Tom, a newly rich man, of murder. So she sat back and waited for an opportunity for revenge, or for her 19th birthday, whichever came first. Her father’s will had stated that Shaw couldn’t control her inheritance until 19. But her 19th birthday was approaching fast, and her window for revenge on Tom was narrowing rapidly as she was taken to Houston, away from her home.  
The driver hit another large rock causing Shaw’s head to bang one too many times against the window. Her nostrils flared in quiet anger as she leaned back in her seat away from the window, a nap wasn’t worth the headache.

Shaw once again regretted not putting up a bigger fight about taking the train. Despite the July heat, Margaret had insisted they take a couch because the train’s “big metal carriages were death machines” and were a “fad for the impatient”. Those who had class rode carriages and “we have class” as Margaret put it. 

Margaret opens her mouth to say something, no doubt to inform Shaw of some unnecessary table manner she had forgotten to mention, but the abrupt stop of the carriage shuts her up.

“Step out, slowly.” An aggressive but surprisingly calm man says from outside the carriage.

Margaret’s face pales, and Shaw hears the driver beg the man not to hurt him. Shaw groans, Robbers. she thinks. She does not want to walk the rest of the way to Houston.

“Now!” the man yells.

Shaw pushes open up the door. A large (at least compared to Shaw), grey haired man stands alone beside a horse with his gun pointed a little too low. He has the typical cowboy attire of a button up shirt, thick pants, and boots. He's only missing a cowboy hat and this man could be a grade-A rancher, besides the fact that he choose a criminal lifestyle. 

Margaret is pushing against Shaw's back trying to move her out of the way to comply with the tall, dark, and thug-some. Shaw steps out and she's thinking she can easily take this guy. Her dad had taught her a pretty mean punch (she knew because she had experimented with it on her terrible excuses for friends as a child). She puts on her best look of despair and steps to the side so Margaret can step out of the carriage. She glances at the old driver who is cowering to the right of them.

Shaw turns her attention back to their robber. He looks like this is his first time robbing someone, timid in the way he holds his gun that doesn’t seem to be pointed in any particular direction. He looks through the window of the carriage expectantly, and is disappointed to see it is empty. His lip curls slightly down in a frown and he steps up onto the carriage to get a closer look. Shaw sees this as her chance to pounce, but before she has time to react a cloth is forced over her mouth from some unseen transgressor. 

Shaw gasp and a sharp smell fills her nostrils. She’s dizzy and trying to fight against the person, but it's a useless struggle. She hears Margaret scream but she’s not sure if out of surprise or pain.

Shaw’s eyes are sagging and she just makes out the large man yelling at the driver and Margaret demanding to know where Tom Fellows is.

My step-uncle? Shaw thinks, but then she's being lifted up and sat on a horse? Or a fuzzy blanket? and the tight grip around her is loosening. She can't hold her eyes open, and sleep would just feel so good right now, so she gives in and passes out to Margaret and the old man’s cries of ‘I don't know?!’.


End file.
